


where only the sweetest words remain

by maybesandsomedays, shafferthefirst



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Christmas, F/M, Tooth Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8725633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybesandsomedays/pseuds/maybesandsomedays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shafferthefirst/pseuds/shafferthefirst
Summary: As much fun as decorating the base’s tree with the whole team was, it was nice to be back to only them for a change. She leans her head against his chest, listening to the steady throb of his heartbeat as the lights of the tree twinkle.
-
In which Jemma and Fitz celebrate their first Christmas together in their new home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anneweaver (camseydavis)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anneweaver+%28camseydavis%29).



> Happy, happy birthday Laura!! You're wonderful and we love you so much <3 Thank you for being part of Cinshaura. We love you and all that you are and we couldn't imagine our little trash trio without you. :')
> 
> Title is from "Turning Page" by Sleeping at Last. Because of course it's by SaL.

Jemma curls up against Fitz’s side on the couch, and Fitz lifts his arm, snuggling her in closer. “Happy Christmas, Fitz,” she says, smiling warmly up at him, and he responds with a “Happy Christmas” of his own. Jemma looks up at their Christmas tree afterwards, admiring how well they’d decorated it—together, just the two of them, for the first time since their apartment during their time at Sci-Ops. As much fun as decorating the base’s tree with the whole team was, it was nice to be back to only them for a change. She leans her head against his chest, listening to the steady throb of his heartbeat as the lights of the tree twinkle. 

Fitz brushes his lips in Jemma’s hair and she looks up, and so he leans down and softly kisses her. When he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead into hers and brushes their noses together softly.

“Think it’s time for presents,” Fitz declares. He presses in for one more kiss before shifting to detangle his limbs from hers. She’s reluctant at first, having really been enjoying the warmth from his body in tandem with the fireplace before them—then he rises and pulls her to her feet with him, and her excitement over the past few days fills her up again and does a funny thing to her insides.

“Roshambo for who’s first?” he offers, closing his fist over his open palm.

“No, you go.” Jemma smiles. She settles cross-legged on the floor by the tree as he searches out her gift amongst the sea of colorful boxes for their team, who plan to join them for dinner later if the world isn’t at risk of demolition by then.

Finally retrieving the small rectangular box—clad in shiny red and gold and just a little on the wonky side—he offers it to her with a nervous smile before settling back on the couch. 

Immensely curious, she carefully peels off the paper from the edges. It's a lifelong habit that he’s teased her about every gift-giving holiday for the past thirteen years, give or take.

“C’mon, Jemma,” he urges, right on cue. “It’s not an autograph. What are you gonna do, frame it for our bedroom?” She sticks out her tongue at him and unveils it: a thin black case enclosing a tasteful watch.

“Oh, Fitz,” she marvels, running her fingers over the smooth metal. “Did you make it?”

“Yeah, and it has a few bells and whistles too.” He swipes his thumb over the screen to demonstrate, grinning as it lightly hums to life over her open palm. “Biosensors—for monitoring your vitals, an instant flashlight, a minor to major electromagnetic shocker for self-defense, and,” his breath hitches, fingertips grazing over her wrist.

“A tracking device,” he finally says. “I only scratched the surface; if you don't like the features I can go in and alter them, it's no trouble—” he doesn't finish, as Jemma clambers off the ground to kiss him.

“It’s wonderful, you idiot.” She kisses his cheek and jaw before landing on his lips again. “Thank you.”

Fitz flushes from her praise, so she taps the tip of his nose before reaching around under the tree.

“Here’s yours,” Jemma announces, handing over a small, square box covered in silver wrapping paper with tiny candy canes. Fitz tears through the paper without any hesitation. 

THE MONTY PYTHON MUG, the box proclaims. Quotes cover each and every side, and Fitz opens it to lift out a mug of the same style, orange and completely covered in quotes and images from various Monty Python sketches.

Fitz grins widely. “I love it.”

“We spent so many nights watching the Holy Grail,” Jemma says wistfully, squeezing his shoulder. She then pushes to her feet and pads over to the cabinet, pulling open a drawer. “I’ve got something else for you, actually. Your real present.”

“You mean this isn’t my real present?” Fitz asks jokingly. “But I love it so much!” He quickly catches onto the suddenly serious look on her face, putting the mug aside and looking up at Jemma intently. 

Jemma hands over a small package, which Fitz opens, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. When he peers into it, a pink plus sign stares back at him.

Fitz slowly raises his sightline from the test up to Jemma’s face incredulously.

“Jem,” he rasps, voice quivering and breath catching in his throat. She simply nods as tears start to spring from her eyes, not even bothering to wipe them away.

“You’re going to be so good at it, too,” Jemma whispers. Sinking back down onto the couch, she curls up against Fitz, resting her forehead on his as he slowly remembers how to inhale and exhale like a normal human being.

“I think,” he says at last, “this is exactly where we’re meant to be.”

Jemma smiles and snuggles closer, and Fitz tentatively rests a hand on her belly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

—

 

—

 

_three-hundred and sixty-five days later_

 

Rather than crackled shrieking from the monitor as most mornings have gone lately, Fitz wakes at an ungodly hour to tiny digits prodding at his nose and mouth. His ears fill with little gurgling sounds at close proximity, and then soft laughter hovering from somewhere nearby. A grin blooms across his face before his eyes even open. 

“Morning, bit,” he mumbles sleepily, kissing the tiny palm grabbing at his lips and swooping his daughter from the mattress to lay atop his chest. Charlie squeals in turn. 

Eventually his eyes do flutter open and land on her chubby, toothless smile. She’s wearing soft candy cane striped joggers and a onesie reading _Naughty_ that makes him laugh out loud.

“Appropriate adjective,” he says, sitting upright with Charlie in his arms and finally peering up at Jemma, the dumbest grin painted on his face. 

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to wonder if I should swap them.” She nods at the second baby—wearing the same outfit as his sister, only with _Nice_ embroidered across—fussing and squirming in her arms and tugging at her ( _his_ , actually) blue button down. “Honestly, Ollie, what happened to my sweet and quiet little boy who existed only eight hours ago?”

“They must’ve switched cribs overnight,” Fitz concludes as she gives up, climbing in bed beside him and laying Ollie on the duvet. “The wonder twins decided to pull one over on us so their first Christmas would be chaotic at the very least.”

“Well,” Jemma murmurs, grinning down at their babies, “At least it will be a memorable one.” She cuddles up to his side, eyes slipping shut in exhaustion, her cheek against his warm shoulder. “Oh, and happy Christmas, by the way.”

“And to you,” he tips his head to press a soft kiss against her temple, then her forehead. “And to _you_ , miss Charlotte Skye,” he kisses the little hand wrapped around his thumb. Ollie, red-faced and now settled in Jemma’s lap and gnawing on her knuckle, lets out a grumpy little noise. “And of _course_ to you, mister fussy bucket.” 

Jemma snorts. “Fussy Bucket Fitz-Simmons, hmm? You’d think I would’ve had a say in that.” 

“I dunno, you were pretty heavily medicated. I could’ve gotten away with it.” Fitz hands Charlie off to her mother and takes Ollie in her place, patting his back gently. “Isn’t that right, fuss? Yeah? That’s right.”

The baby settles eventually, trading his whining for soft coos as his dad makes faces down at him. “Think we can keep them content enough for presents?”

“Well…” Jemma, who previously spent _days_ organizing how their first Christmas with the twins would go—the outfits, the photo ops, every little detail planned around routine naps and feedings—is suddenly _very_ much content on the thought of throwing it all out the window lounge around in bed with her family all day. It’s the simplest of things she treasures, nowadays.

But Fitz’s hopeful face with Ollie’s pudgy little cheek now against his bare chest just really seals the deal. 

“Oh, alright,” she smiles. “But I give it twenty minutes before they’re over it, tops.”

— 

Fitz tears the wrapping paper of the final gift under the tree: a simple silver box tied with blue ribbon, and Ollie, in his lap and secured by the arm not unwrapping, watches and starts gurgling approvingly. Fitz gasps when the box opens. “Ollie, look!” He lifts a Baby’s First Christmas ornament up and holds it in front of him. Ollie reaches for it as it dangles, giggling and shrieking.

“Oh, wait, and what’s that?” Jemma coos, leaning Charlie closer, and Fitz holds up a second ornament. 

“Look, there’s one for your sister too! _Both_ of your first Christmases!” He blows a raspberry on Ollie’s belly, then looks into Charlie’s eyes. “Would you like to do the honors?” The baby waves her hands and Fitz nods seriously. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

He hands Charlie’s ornament to Jemma, then stands with Ollie in one arm and his ornament in the other hand, and walks to stand in front of the tree. Jemma does the same with Charlie.

“Ready?” Jemma asks, and Fitz nods. They each clasp the ornaments’ strings and the babies’ hands together so that the babies can “hold” them, and carefully hang the ornaments. 

“Yay! You did it!” Jemma says proudly, lifting Charlie in the air above her. “You put the ornament on the tree! Such a clever girl, aren’t you?” The baby’s mouth parts into a wide grin and Jemma returns her to her arms. She then takes Charlie’s arm and uses it to high-five Ollie’s hand that Fitz has propped and waiting.

“We did great,” she says, standing back and studying the tree. “It’s beautiful. This was a wonderful Christmas, Fitz.” She leans over and kisses his cheek.

“Even better than last year,” Fitz agrees.

“Maybe next year will be even better,” Jemma says, a playful, mischievous glint in her eye before leaning in to catch his lips with hers.

Fitz hums in agreement for a moment, and then—”Wait, are you pregnant _again_?”


End file.
